


The Master Manipulator

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bewildered John Watson, Dinner Party, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Food, Fun, Just for Laughs, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, booze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Sherlock Holmes throws a dinner party.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	The Master Manipulator

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IantoLives](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoLives/gifts).



John had not had the time to check his phone since morning.

First he had to take over from one of his colleagues for a complex surgery needed for a patient who had been brought to the trauma center following an accident. Then he had to perform two laparoscopies, one to remove a fibroid in the uterus for a young woman and the other to remove a few kidney stones from a senior citizen’s organ.

There were also patients he had to check on, ones whose surgeries he had performed earlier that week and also some who were visiting a week or two after their surgeries, for post-operative care. Add to that paperwork and a meeting with other general surgeons and John was reeling under workload that day. His day had started with an emergency call at 6 am and he was not likely to finish before 6 pm, a tight and packed schedule that left him with nothing other than a few trips to the washroom, endless glasses of water and some cups of tea, and a banana and a sandwich when he got _dizzy from hunger._

That was why, when he was wrapping up, he didn’t even have the energy to hold his phone to his ear. He took the call on speakerphone and that too because it was his husband of five years, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, calling him for the fifth time since afternoon. “Sherlock doesn’t call, he usually texts,” he said by means of explanation to the nurse who assisted him, a nice lady named Agnes, “It must be some form of urgency.”

“The last time you thought it was one, he was simply _out of milk_ for his tea.”

“Um….no, he has changed. That was nearly ten years ago.”

“If you insist on that doc.”

John cleared his throat, ignored her and pressed the answer button. Almost immediately he heard a _whine_. “Jaw-wwn!”

O God, she’s right, it must be something totally inconsequential. Still, John was his usual patient and kind and indulgent self with Sherlock. “Hey there Sherl, how are you? Sorry, had to leave in a hurry this morning but I am sure I can make it up to you by buying dinner on my way home?”

“Um….it’s a bit more complicated than that. Tonight we have a dinner party to host.”

“D-Dinner party?”

“Yes. Invitees include Mycroft and Georg, mummy and daddy, Molly and Andersen, Mike and Mrs. Hudson, Jim and Sebastian.”

A weird gurgle rose up John’s half empty stomach and a corresponding bubble of nervousness rose right up to his brain as he imagined a party with ten people, plus the two of them. Twelve people, whoa! It did strike him as odd that Sherlock had chosen to club Mike and Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Phil Andersen, but he chose not to comment on that. His biggest concern was the food! _Well, I gotta buy a sack of food then, all sorts to ensure each guest is happy with at least one dish on the menu._

“So do I have to buy Chinese, Italian and Indian?”

“Nope, there is no need to buy any food,” Sherlock said with remarkable confidence and maturity, whistling between pauses, “You just get some booze. It’s spring almost, so some people would prefer beer. The ladies might want some white and red wine. The others can have whatever we have in the bar at home, we got Scotch, single malt, potato vodka, Russian regular vodka, gin, brandy, white rum, dark rum and three bottles of champagne. Yes, just get the beer and wine and bring yourself home. If possible we might get to squeeze in a quickie before the first set of guests arrive at eight.”

John paled and picked up the phone, putting it off speaker, but the damage was done. He should have known better than to let someone listen to a conversation between him and Sherlock. Agnes was in splits by then.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

***

When John entered the house it was nearly six-thirty and he was expecting bags and bags of food on the kitchen table. Instead he saw a large electric rice cooker on the gas stove, the aroma of long-grained basmati rice filling the entire flat.

“Sherlock….Sherlock?”

Sherlock ambled out of the bathroom, holding a razor. He was half way through a shave and had evidently taken a bath moments ago because his skin was flushed and moist from the hot shower. Had it not been for the pressures of hosting a party, John would have jumped him right then. “Hey,” he said, “I got two packs of beer, twelve each. I also got four bottles of wine, two red and two white. Is that good?”

“Better than good.”

_“You’re cooking???”_

_“Just_ the rice.”

“So the other items have been ordered, yes?” John asked hopefully, praying that the answer would be ‘yes’. He was too wiped out to cook and in any case it wasn’t possible for him to cook dinner for twelve people in just an hour and half, even on a lighter day or a holiday. When Sherlock gave him that ‘duh’ look John relaxed and went to the bedroom to change.

However when he came out, he got the shock of a lifetime when he found Sherlock poring over a list of ‘possible’ dishes.

“For Heaven’s sake Sherlock Holmes,” he said with a huff of frustration and a dollop of disdain, “Don’t try your hand at being a genius in matters you’re not exactly even average at. For example, dinner parties and get-togethers, lunches or celebrations at home. All our guests are expected to arrive in less than two hours and you’re deciding on the items in the menu, now? NOW? REALLY? Well, I am not going to bail you out this time, as I did at Christmas lunch last year. That was only for Mycroft, Greg, mummy and daddy and we at least had the turkey marinated and ready to be popped in the oven. Right now we do not have anything to fall back on, _nothing_.”

“Relax. I am not expecting you to cook. And the _list is ready.”_

“Okay, then who cooks?”

“The guests.”

“Huhhh!!! The guests will _cook their own meal?”_

“I didn’t say meal, I said dishes.”

“No, you didn’t.”

_“Then I am saying it now._ Stop your crowing and watch the rice, get me a cup of tea and watch the wizard at work.”

John had to count backwards from ten to control his temper. Trust Sherlock, believe in Sherlock Holmes, have faith on your man, he counseled himself again and again but his faith evaporated and his trust failed miserably. He braced himself for a horrific evening, disappointed guests and general mockery of their household as he reluctantly began to brew some tea. But from the kitchen he could hear Sherlock as he made the first phone call.

“Hello mummy….hi, no, the invite stands. Have you started yet? No? Oh okay…great. Needed one small help really. I have managed everything here aside from the roasted chicken. Yes, the one you make with caramelized onion sauce, cashews and peas on the side. I tried but failed magnificently. No no, I am fine, not hurt. John is cleaning the kitchen after the mishap. Oh thank you mummy. But can you manage? Oh you can, _you’ll be a little late?_ No problem.”

“What was that?” John set down the cup of coffee before Sherlock with a work roughened hand, giving him a strict glare, “What chicken?”

“Shush.”

John was about to snap but by then Sherlock was on the next call already. This time he was calling Mrs. Hudson and speaking far more politely than he had addressed her in years. “Hudders, I am so sorry to be a bother. But can you share the recipe for the apple pie and lemon tarts you make? I am trying to prepare some dessert but somehow it looks way different from what you bake. No, I will do this myself, even if that means burning my fingers a few times. Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh! _You will make those for us?_ But there will be ten guests, oh I see, it will be ready in a jiffy. I knew you were a pro at this much as you were in running a drug cartel at one point in time. Thank you, I might even _start paying rent_ after this.”

John waited till the line was disconnected.

“Sherlock, what is going on? You are….. _you’re making each guest bring a dish_ , are you? But that is called _potluck_ , not a dinner party.”

“Shush.”

“Don’t you say ‘shush’ one more time.”

_“Hush.”_

“WHAT THE FUCK….!!!”

Sherlock was already on the next call by then and this time the call was on speaker. Hearing the voice on the other side always gave John goosebumps and memories of darker times in the past. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling a little asphyxiated as the singsong voice called out a greeting. “Hellooooo Sherlylocks, I was juuuust thinking about you. Can we come in a bit earrrrly?”

Jim Moriarty.

“Hey Jimmy….listen, Magpie, I….umm….”

“Sherly,” the voice turned towards sinister, the playfulness replaced by dark undertones, “If you’re _cancelling this last minute_ I will skiiinnn you! I have cancelled two assassination, one heist, two art forgeries and at least fifty million dollars of money laundering to attend this.”

“Huh? He _still_ does those things?” John whispered, shocked and startled. Sherlock put his finger on his full lips and winked, causing John to back off temporarily. “No Jimmy,” the detective continued, “Not cancelling. But I have run into a problem. Please Jim, _can you fix it for me?”_

“Which bakery do I have to blow up?”

“No, not t _hat kind_ of fixing. I have forgotten the one-bite-cocktail-snack recipe you taught me once. The hard boiled and halved quail eggs sprinkled with rock salt, dried oregano, chilli flakes, hot sauce and a wee droplet of maple syrup?”

John witnessed Sherlock’s excellent manipulation, coaxing and flattering skills for the first time. Even though he had just rattled off the recipe, he somehow managed to convince even a sly character like Moriarty that he didn’t remember the recipe and was helpless without a little intervention. He flattered Jim to no end; beginning with high admiration for Jim’s attractiveness and well-groomed look, praised him for keeping his word and leaving England alone and creating a web elsewhere, and even vowed to compose an exclusive piece for Sebastian Moran. The criminal mastermind _gladly agreed_ and said he would bring along the snack for everyone.

“He still does all that underworld work?” John asked, aghast, as Sherlock started to call Sebastian.

“What? _Oh yes_ , he does. But he’s good at it….so…..oh _hell_ Sebastian. I mean _hello_ Sebastian! How are you? What did you say? No, I am not trying to sleep with Jim. No, never. I am a married man now. I was calling you for another reason altogether. You see, John misses the cheese, olive and cracker snack you used to make while you guys drank together. Yes, he was telling me no one can make it the way you do. Oh wonderful, thank you so much.”

“You just made _me a reason to deceive someone?”_ John was dismayed, “And what was that about you wanting to sleep with Jim?”

“All bogus,” Sherlock assured and started to dial another number. “Who is it this time?” John asked curiously. “Georg…..” “Nope, it is _Greg_. If you’re going to ask for help at least give him the respect he deserves.” “Why thank you, good suggestion Jawn!!!”

Over the next few minutes Sherlock convinced Greg to bring along a nice chicken curry _since the nearest Tesco and Waitrose had run out of a supply of chickens_. Molly was manipulated into bringing along a classic macaroni salad while Andersen was misled to think he cooked the best poached halibut with assorted chopped veggies. Finally Mike Stamford was tricked into bringing fresh bread and cheese and a large bottle of extra virgin olive oil.

John watched, bemused as well as bewildered, as Sherlock’s plan worked to the T and the dinner party became lively, enjoyable and very well liked by the guests. By the time the last of them left, around 1-30 am, John was dying to tell Sherlock two things.

“You are truly the _master manipulator_ ,” he said as he binned the various paper cups, plates, disposable spoons and other items strewn around the kitchen and sitting room into a large garbage bag, “You threw a remarkable dinner party and only cooked the rice!”

“Teamwork,” Sherlock snickered.

“You’re also a great liar, you could be missing a career as a poker player, professional one.”

“Don’t call them lies Dr. Watson, my dear husband and biggest critic! I prefer to call them _fabricated truths_. If you think carefully enough and remember the conversations, I never claimed to have cooked anything at home. I only mentioned the rice while we were eating dinner and even got praised for that. Everything else that was seen, heard or understood were pure assumptions from our guests. I can’t be called a liar for that!”

“Oh dear, look at you, _wordsmithing_ your way out of a valid accusation…..unngggg!”

Sherlock simply dropped his clothes and stood there, naked, and started touching the twin nubs on his smooth chest; at which point poor John Watson forgot the fine line between truth and lies and took him _right there_ on the rug covered floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I did something very similar before, with my in laws, when I was still a newlywed and struggling while juggling work, home, kitchen, social commitments and lots of sex (wink - those were the days!)


End file.
